Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(88)

“You’re OK,” he murmured encouragingly in a tone that made me want to lay my head on his chest.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I muttered finally finding the power of speech. I tried to crawl backwards without tipping the boat again. A little voice warned me that I had to stop touching him, and soon.

“OK, move over you guys,” Declan called out. “Let’s get this party started.”

Oh geez, I thought as I pressed my knees primly together and tried to scootch as far over as possible. Declan slid in next to me as though he had done this a thousand times. He didn’t rock the boat at all.

“This will be fun,” he said to me in a low voice that tickled my ear. He patted my knee reassuringly. Was it my imagination or did his fingers linger just a moment too long?

A wave of disbelief surged in my mind, and I had to bite my lip, hard, to keep from getting the giggles. The situation seemed completely preposterous - three grown people wedged into a slimy toy boat in the dark. I was sandwiched between the distractingly handsome art collectors I was supposed to be impressing hunks. Bridget was just going to die when I told her.

Oh, girl, I saw her say clearly in my mind, shaking her burgundy curls at me in disbelief. You better check yourself!

The boat lurched forward and began to float to the dark archway at the far end. We entered a pitch black room. The water splashed darkly against the sides of the boat as we waited expectantly for whatever the installation was supposed to do next.

Suddenly a strobe started flashing, and a figure to our left dressed as Frida Kahlo or something lurched toward us with her arms out. Jackson flinched, sliding toward me, swearing. Declan laughed mockingly and leaned over me to punch Jackson in the arm. His shoulder brushed my cleavage and I realized that at least one button had come undone on my dress, probably when I fell.

My fingers flew to my cleavage to search for the button, but suddenly a fog machine went on. An invisible nozzle hissed and a huge billow of blue fog settled over us as the strobe light faded out. The mist descended with a cool, prickling sensation that covered me all over. Coughing, we waved the tendrils away from our faces. It smelled like the dentist’s office.

“Whoa, what was that?” Declan murmured, shaking his head. “Hey, maybe they’re going to drug us with some magical art school mushroom mist or something?”

Jackson sighed sternly. I was slightly gladdened to see that his patience for Declan’s attitude had its limits.

“Woooooooooooo,” Declan continued, unperturbed.

I tried to breathe deeply. Something about the cool moisture of the fog made my heart race a little bit. I tried to remember if I was claustrophobic. The boat wasn’t moving and I started to wonder what was going to happen next. I could feel the mist like little drops on my chest, starting to trickle down my belly, and I had the sudden urge to pull my top off so I could get a decent breath. Everything seemed to get very close.

“We have to start moving again,” I heard myself say. I started to count silently. 1… 2… 3….

“Whoa, there, Margot, it’s OK,” Declan said, turning his torso to me. He laid his hand on my thigh again. I saw the contact in my mind like an orange neon spark. The sensation took my breath away.

I found his eyes in the near blackness and looked at him. He was smiling slightly, I could tell, with his lips just parted. The light was so dim it was almost as though I saw him through the white snow of a poorly tuned in TV station. My blood was rushing in my ears.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I get a little anxious in close spaces.”

He nodded. “That’s cool,” he said with the patient tone of a therapist. “I get that too. No worries. Just look at me.”

I nodded quickly. 1… 2… 3…

He nodded back, but slower. “That’s good. Just breathe. It’s all fine.”

1… 2… 3....

My head felt like it was being filled with thick, throbbing wool. I heard my pulse so loudly, it was hard to hear anything else but I concentrated on the dim gleam of his eyes.

He squeezed my knee reassuringly. “See? Just breathe. Are you counting? Counting is good.”

“OK,” I answered. I could see him smile confidently.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered.

It seemed like forever, but I just counted to three over and over and watched his eyes. He never looked away. He patted my knee every few seconds and just breathed with me. After a while, the dense confusion in my head seemed to lighten up.

“Are you OK?” came Jackson’s voice behind me.

“She’s alright,” Declan said. “Just a little anxiety. But better now right?”